Poem 097, Sonnet 45: That Tender Soul Poem by Samer Madbak

'T may be I stirred the calmness of that world,
Cankered the blooming verdure of these holts.
'T may be the dismal secrets I unfurled
Unto that heart proved none but baleful bolts.

'T may be I strained that bosom, yoked them shoulders
With callous fancies and capricious fears.
'T may be my words were bane, my comments boulders
My notions that evoked those costly tears.

And yet, that able breast embraced my plaints
Did not retire before my Abbadon
But trod the ambers of my torrid taints
And sipped the waters of my Acheron.

Yea, 'twas that tender soul whose priceless merit
Has lullabied the fury of my spirit!


Adelaide
December 23rd 1992